Til Death Do Us Part
by wholock.love1
Summary: John and Sherlock are newly wed, and still have much to learn about one another. Will theirs be a happy ending, or is something more sinister in store for the happy couple?


John Watson awoke earlier than usual, the sunlight dancing through the double-glazed window, playing brilliantly across Sherlock's face as he lay beside him, still completely asleep. For a few moments, John watched the rise and fall of his husband's naked chest, before gently rolling over to glance at the 24 hour clock on the nightstand which indicated that the time was 7:14.

John got out of bed, and pulled on some clothes. Nothing fancy, a 'Hobbit' printed t-shirt and khaki shorts. It had been rather unseasonably hot lately, and it was already becoming quite warm in the flat despite the early hour of the day. He wasn't about to put more clothes on than absolutely necessary. In fact, he'd have rather gone about completely starkers, but knew that it would be just his luck if Mrs. Hudson walked in and got an eyeful.

He headed to the kitchen, and began gathering the dishes that he'd need to make a decent breakfast, proceeding to make French toast with a side of fresh berries that he and Sherlock had picked together on a day trip to the country the day before.  
The scent of John's delicious cooking wafted throughout the flat, and as it filled the bedroom that the newly married couple shared, Sherlock began to awaken. He breathed the aroma in deeply, his magnificent eyes fluttering open.

He stood up, wrapping the sheet around him, and set out towards the kitchen. As he walked, he felt a small amount of pressure on the edge of the sheet and looked back. Of course, Klaus, their little jet-black kitten, had decided to put his hunting skills to good use and fearlessly pounce his sheet as it dragged on the floor.

Sherlock chuckled softly, bending down and gently gathering the kitten up, holding him to his chest with one large hand. Klaus purred happily, and snuggled in.  
He entered the kitchen unnoticed, and sat down at the small table. "Good morning, John." He said in his deep, velvet voice, moving the kitten to his lap. John jumped a little in surprise, nearly burning his hand on the scorching frying pan. "Shit!" He swore, before regaining his composure. He placed the last piece of French toast onto the stack in the oven, before turning to look at his husband.

"Good morning." He returned. "Do you honestly have to sneak around like that?" John snapped. Sherlock huffed ever so slightly at what he considered to be an overreaction. "I can assure you that my 'sneaking around' is not intentional most of the time." He returned, massaging Klaus' ear. Could he help it if he naturally walked quietly and John was fairly unobservant? John sighed, and took two plates with matching Japanese art on them out of the cupboard.

"I'm sorry, I'm just a little edgy today." He apologised, and began dishing food onto the plates. He meticulously arranged the berries around the French toast before setting the plates on the table. "Milk or water to drink?" He asked Sherlock, who opted for the milk, which John poured from the pitcher in the fridge.

Sherlock wasn't all that hungry, but was aware that John would fret if he didn't at least have some breakfast. He hadn't eaten much of anything over the past while, being preoccupied with a particularly fast-paced case which had involved four of the Queen's corgis, a purple motorcycle and a serial killer with a dual personality disorder.

As he leisurely consumed the breakfast that John had made, he observed the smile on John's face. "What?" He queried, popping a juicy blackberry into his mouth. John blinked. "Oh, nothing, really. Just this… Us, sitting at a table, eating breakfast." He answered. Sherlock smiled subtly. Yes, this was rather nice. John had been finished with his breakfast for a few minutes now, and was good-naturedly waiting for Sherlock to be done with his.  
"Any plans for the day?" John inquired, considering making tea. At this, Sherlock's full lips formed a sexy little grin which made John blush easily. "I'll be going out for a brief while this morning, and after that… Well, you'll find out." He replied without looking at John, who was picturing what sort of plans Sherlock might have in store for later.

After breakfast, and removing a sliver from Klaus back paw (which proved to be more problematic than either Sherlock or John had imagined) Sherlock got dressed in much lighter clothing than usual. When he strode through the den, John burst into laughter, quite nearly knocking his tea over and dousing his laptop.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He apologised between giggles. "It's just, well… A bit of a shock to see you wearing something like that." Sherlock looked down at the ensemble he'd chosen. Rather small, orange shorts and a simple white tank top, and a straw sun hat. He didn't see anything so extraordinary about it. He'd merely chosen clothing that suited the oddly hot weather. It felt peculiar to be wearing such an outfit, but in this heat, his customary dark suits were not an option.

John had stopped laughing, and was now looking at him a little differently. The simple white tank top did show off his quietly muscular arms rather nicely, and while the shorts may have been a little too formfitting for John's liking, Sherlock did have the long, slender legs to pull the look off. "Turn around." John told him. As he obliged, John stifled a small gasp. Sherlock's arse did look magnificent in those shorts. He wasn't certain if he was comfortable with Sherlock going out in such a provocative outfit, but what Sherlock wore wasn't up to him.

John cleared his throat. "Um, yeah. You look all right." He said, feeling a stir in his pants. "So, where are you headed, anyway?" John asked, genuinely curious. Sherlock put on a pair of dark sunglasses and grabbed his keys from a small table, putting them in his pocket. "Nowhere that you'd be familiar with, I'm sure." He replied. "I won't be long, perhaps an hour or two."

And with that, he opened the door to the flat, said good-bye, and left. John leaned his head against the back of his chair. Lately, it seemed like all he wanted to do was Sherlock. He could swear that he was becoming addicted. Sherlock's touch, his voice, his aroma… Everything about Sherlock was intoxicating.

Sherlock walked the twelve blocks to his destination at a fair pace, despite the heat. He strolled into the rather sizeable shoppe, and was immediately stunned by the sheer variety of sex toys, magazines, and other sexual aids. He hadn't been certain what it was that he'd had in mind when walking into 'XXX's and Oh's!', the most reputable adult shoppe in the area. This was something rather foreign to him, and it was bound to be an interesting excursion.

He began to browse, not noticing Greg Lestrade the next aisle over, looking at a rabbit vibrator with a raised eyebrow. He was shopping for something to spice things up in the bedroom with his missus, but had no idea what sort of thing to buy. The last time, he'd bought an item to shake things up a bit, it had been a catastrophe. Lestrade had purchased a bottle of lube that was supposed to literally 'heat things up'.

Unfortunately, he'd been a bit too liberal with the lube, and things heated up too much. Both he and the missus had felt as though their genitals were aflame. He was still hearing about that cock-up.  
Sherlock tried to think of the sort of thing that might be to John's liking. A vibrator, perhaps? Something to reach John's prostate easily and give him the most intense orgasm he'd ever had.

That was a notion, certainly, but what else? As he stood, pondering, Lestrade accidentally bumped into him. "Sorry, pal." Came Lestrade's gruff voice. Sherlock recognised the voice immediately, turned to look at the man. Lestrade looked at him, obviously dreadfully uncomfortable. "Sherlock…" He said, his face going scarlet. "Odd, finding you in a place like this." Lestrade stated. Sherlock shrugged, looking back to the package he'd been examining. "You can relax, it's not as though I'm going to go about telling everyone you know where you've been." Sherlock sighed. "After all, I am here shopping as well. It's not as though I'd have room to talk."

Lestrade laughed tensely. "Yeah, I s'pose you're right." He agreed, inadvertently noticing what Sherlock had in his hands. "Not to be nosy, but you'd be better off not buying that one. I've had three, and they all died within a month's time." He advised, pointing at the purple jelly vibrator. Sherlock gave the DI a slight look of surprise. "What?" Lestrade asked. "It's not that big of a deal. Loads of men use them." He said defensively, before bidding Sherlock good day and leaving to look over a shelf of nipple clamps.

Sherlock put back the purple vibrator, and looked about for a few more minutes before grabbing a shopping basket, and making his selections.

Meanwhile, John sat at his computer, working on his blog. He'd decided to try something new and update his blog layout, which had proven to be more effort than it was worth. As he adjusted the font style, his text alert went off. He could tell it was Sherlock from the tone. He grabbed his phone from beside the laptop, and read the message. '_Will be home in ten minutes. Slice some fruit. – SH_'

John raised an eyebrow. Was Sherlock actually planning on having a snack? That was out of the ordinary. Perhaps the heat had really taken it out of him. He turned the computer off, and went to slice a few kiwis, a pear and a red delicious apple.

Precisely ten minutes later, Sherlock arrived home, carrying a hefty unmarked fabric bag. He went into the bedroom, shut the door, and was out shortly. John had heard the unmistakable sound of plastic packaging being removed, and wondered what on earth Sherlock was being so secretive about.

After five minutes or so, Sherlock exited the room, closing the door again behind him. John was standing in the hallway. "What's going on?" He asked, a bemused look on his face. Sherlock smiled. "Oh, you are adorable when you're confused." He said softly, before giving him a peck on the cheek. He headed to the kitchen, finding the plate of sliced fruit on the counter.

He put a wedge of kiwi in his mouth, leaning against the wall. John walked over, and waited for some sort of explanation as to why all the secrecy. Sherlock grinned, and chose a particularly appealing piece of kiwi, and offered it to John, who opened his mouth. Sherlock placed it on John's tongue, and observed as he slowly chewed the fruit.

John reciprocated, and fed Sherlock a portion of juicy pear. John was feeling that familiar sensation in his groin once more, as Sherlock closed his eyes, appreciating the flavour. They continued on that way, until the plate was bare.  
Sherlock had that frisky grin on his face again, making John break out in goosebumps. Sherlock lead him to the boudoir, where he had laid out his haul on top of the large bureau. It was quite the assortment. There were two styles of vibrators designed to stimulate the prostate, four distinct types of penis sleeves (one of which vibrated, had round nubby bits and not only glowed in the dark, but had colourful led decorations as well.), bondage tape and an eye mask, among other items.  
John nearly choked. "Well, this is unexpected!" He managed to say. Sherlock frowned. "Not good?" He asked, speculating as to whether he'd chosen the wrong things altogether.

John shook his head. "No! That's not what I meant." He said, moving in to take a closer look. He had fantasised about tying Sherlock up and having his way with him, but had never mentioned it. John couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock had figured that one out. "So, when you meant that I'd find out, you had an afternoon of experimentation in mind?" He asked, some rather naughty thoughts forming.

"Obviously." Sherlock replied and sat on the bed. "Although, I must admit that I wasn't entirely certain what might be to your liking, and went on pure speculation." He confessed, as John picked up one of the sleeves. "Oh, that one is actually quite impressive!" Sherlock said. "It can last eighteen hours without being recharged, pulses, glows in the dark and has three different coloured light displays." He pointed out. "It's almost pretty." He added.

John turned the light display on. "You're right." He chuckled, wondering why on earth anyone would incorporate such a feature. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "When am I ever wrong?" He asked teasingly. John laughed. "Well, it's not that uncommon for you to misjudge the odd thing, you know." He pointed out. Sherlock lay down on the bed. "Like what?" He asked. John sat on the bed beside Sherlock. "Oh, I don't know… Harry, for one." John mentioned. "Oh, like that was something I would have been able to deduce from such a small amount of data!" He said with a scoff, as John lay down beside him.

"You can be such a complete arse sometimes." John said, leaning in to kiss him. "But, you love it." Sherlock murmered, as he kissed John's neck, his breath playing across John's skin gorgeously.  
John made a soft, happy sound, as Sherlock began to skillfully tease one of John's nipples through the t-shirt. He retrieved the eye mask, handing it to John, who put it on.

Sherlock sat down next to John, and began to briefly massage his neck and shoulders. He wanted to ensure that John was wholly relaxed to ensure maximum pleasure. After all, if things went well, this would be quite a long session.  
He stopped massaging, and slipped John's shirt over his head. "Lie down." He instructed softly, and John complied. Sherlock took a feather, and began to tantalise John's bare skin with it, causing him to shiver with the sensation. John's nipples looked almost painfully taut, and his cock was following suit.

Sherlock set the feather down, and began to kiss and lick at John's torso, running a hand up and down John's thigh. He came close to John's manhood, very close, but purposely avoided making any actual contact. John would be begging him to have mercy before long, to touch his throbbing virility. Sherlock was planning on toying with him a while longer before giving in, not matter how much John implored him.

A throaty moan escaped John's lips. "Fuck, Sherlock, you're such a tease!" He managed. Sherlock grinned, but said nothing. He took a nipple in his mouth, suckling a little before nipping gently at it, sending an electric sensation down John's spine. Sherlock decided to remove the rest of John's clothing.

John's red pants were already damp from pre-cum. He let them fall to the floor, and took the smaller vibrator from the bureau and switched it on. A soft humming emitted from it, and he touched the tip of the vibrator. The vibration was stronger than he had presumed it would be, as it was so quiet.

Sherlock began to trace it along John's pubis, and along his groin. A small pool of pre-cum had formed at the base of John's aching cock. "Sh-Sherlock.." John puffed. "Please." Sherlock tilted his head, considering. Perhaps he could oblige John a little. He languidly ran the vibrator along the underside of John's 7 ½ inches, but only once. John groaned. That was a sensation that was completely new, and he craved more of it. Sherlock opted to repeat the action, only with the feather this time, causing John to gasp. He could swear that wearing the eye mask was heightening his senses dramatically.

John suddenly felt the vibrator against his perineum, felt it barely linger across his sac, and while it felt delightful, he needed more. Much more. "Please!" John repeated, more urgently this time.

Sherlock switched the vibrator off, and switched it for a prostate massager. He lubed it, and John's entrance, and began to slowly insert it. Sherlock hadn't turned it on, and the feeling of it was a little strange to John. It was rather firm, but soft at the same time. The shape was certainly odd, although it felt quite pleasant.

As soon as John made that well-known gasp, Sherlock knew that he'd found the sweet spot. He turned the device on the lowest setting, and watched the look of gradually mounting pleasure on John's face. As Sherlock worked John's prostate, he took his cock into his mouth. He could hear John's sharp intake of breath, as he swirled his tongue around the head and took John's full length into his mouth. He swallowed, and could feel John's fingers in his dark curls. John moaned raucously, uttering Sherlock's name as he went over the edge, waves of extreme pleasure coursing throughout his entire body.

He'd never had an orgasm like this before, and it seemed to last forever, yet was over in a matter of seconds.  
John was left utterly breathless and exhausted. Sherlock slipped the eye mask off, and kissed him. As much as John wanted to reciprocate, to give Sherlock that same wonderful pleasure, he doubted very much if he could even move at this point. Sherlock smiled at him lovingly, and brushed John's damp bangs off of his forehead. He really was drenched in perspiration.

There was no need for words, as Sherlock lay beside him, possessively holding him as he drifted into sleep.

An hour later, he awoke. "You really ought to take a shower." Sherlock advised. "Actually, we both should. Come on." He said. "We'll conserve water that way."

The water felt amazing against John's skin, as Sherlock washed his back with a firm, but gentle pressure. His graceful hands slid over John's smooth back, evoking a quiver. This entertained Sherlock, and his hands travelled down to John's arse, where he gave John a gentle slap to the buttocks before lathering them as well.

A sharp 'Oh!' came from John. Sherlock had never spanked him before, and he wasn't sure whether or not he liked it. Sherlock seemed to be trying anything and everything in order to get a reaction from him, and if John responded favourably, then he could count on having that act performed again later on. It was more or less a sort of fun research for Sherlock, deducing just what it was that John enjoyed having done to him.

After Sherlock was satisfied that John was cleansed, they switched places so that John could rinse himself off. Sherlock poured a bit of strawberry scented shampoo in his own hair and began to lather. Strawberry was a signature scent for Sherlock. He used organic strawberry seed oil to moisturise his pale skin, strawberry shampoo and soap, and even enjoyed strawberry incense from time to time.

John took the opportunity to begin washing Sherlock's chest, gently massaging as he cleansed. Sherlock closed his eyes, appreciating John's touch. John slid his hand slowly down, and Sherlock bit his lower lip as John's hand seized his cock. He could feel himself beginning to grow stiff, as John skillfully moved his hand in the rhythm that Sherlock typically favoured.

John watched Sherlock, taking in the look of naked pleasure on his face. But then, John ceased. "You ought to rinse off, you're going to get soap burn." He stated. Sherlock opened his eyes, craving for John to finish what he'd commenced. But, John stepped out of the shower, telling him that he'd meet him in the bedroom after he'd rinsed. Sherlock immediately stepped under the spray of water, his lust growing intense, as the water sluiced over his body.

He stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around him. He swiftly walked to the bedroom, nearly tripping over Klaus the cat, keen to continue what John had instigated in the shower. He could smell something familiar… Amber incense. He stepped into the bedroom, finding John lying stark-naked in a rather provocative pose, eye mask dangling from an index finger.

Ah, so this is what John had in mind. To have his way with him, as Sherlock had done earlier. "Lose the towel." John ordered firmly. Sherlock gladly obliged, then placed his hands on his slender hips. John's eyes travelled unabashedly over Sherlock's nude form. The man truly was a work of fine art. Subtly muscled all over, alabaster skin, long, graceful limbs, excellent bone structure. He could have been a very successful nude model, had he chosen to pursue that path.

Sherlock relished the attention, and started to walk over a little cumbersomely, being as hard as he was, when John told him to halt. "Do you mind if…" He began, but then faltered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Do I mind what?" He inquired. John looked a little discomfited. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I was hoping that you might allow me to take a photograph." He admitted, hoping that it wasn't such an odd request. Sherlock wasn't sure what John saw in his body. He'd never considered himself to be all that attractive, and John's request caught him a little off guard. He found himself feeling rather flattered that John would want a photo of him like this.

Sherlock blinked. John looked apologetic. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He said, fiddling with his hands. Sherlock smiled. "No, John, it's all right." He told him gently. "If you want to take a photograph, I don't mind at all. You merely surprised me with such a request." Sherlock finished. John met Sherlock's eyes.

"You're sure you don't mind?" He asked, not wanting Sherlock to do anything he wasn't actually comfortable with. Sherlock sighed. "I wouldn't have said so, if I hadn't been certain." He mentioned with a slight tone of irritation. He despised repetition.

John took a camera from a pouch in the closet, and aimed it at Sherlock. "Would you like me in a certain pose?" He queried. John shook his head. "No, I just want a picture of you being yourself." He said. "Just think of something you really like, and let the feelings those thoughts give you reach your face." He added.

That would be incredibly easy. Sherlock merely looked at John, and focused on how much he adored him. His face took on a nearly angelic expression, and John snapped a photo. "Perfect." He murmered, setting the camera on the bureau, next to the range of goodies that Sherlock had laid out.  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I'm glad that you're happy, but meanwhile, I'm standing here badly in need of some attention." He said almost sulkily, making John grin. "Yes, you're perfectly right. I've been neglecting you." He said, patting the bed. Sherlock made his way over, and laid down. John gave him the eye mask, which he put on.

"And what do you intend to do to me?" He asked, anticipation filling him completely, as John's fingers began to leisurely trail along his entire body. "Oh, you'll see." John told him teasingly. Honestly, he wasn't too sure himself. He would just wing it, and see where things went.

John cupped Sherlock's testicles, massaging with a soft touch. Sherlock put his hand over John's to guide his hand upwards, but John batted his hand away. "No, Sherlock. I'm in charge this time." He reprimanded. Sherlock groaned. "But, John, I need you to –" He started, but John cut him off. "Patience, love." He replied, finding himself enjoying Sherlock's urgency. He continued on, and soon enough, Sherlock's hands had begun to dominate his own once again.

John stopped completely, taking his hands away. If Sherlock wasn't going to obey, then there was only one thing for it. He took the grey silk bondage ties that Sherlock had picked up on his earlier excursion, and began to fasten Sherlock's wrists to the bed frame. Sherlock realised exactly what John was doing, and rather liked the idea. He simply couldn't refrain from guiding John, from being dominant in the bedroom. Of course, he didn't mean to be, it was simply in his nature.

And now that John was taking the lead, he found himself extraordinarily turned on. "There, that should keep you from interfering." John told him smugly. He bent down, letting Sherlock feel his hot breath at the base of his throbbing erection. Sherlock sucked in a breath. He could feel John begin to lap at him in long strokes, soft and slow. He whimpered.

"Ah, that's good." He murmered in a husky tone, his voice deeper than usual. John moved back to his sac, taking a testicle into his mouth and sucking briefly before stopping once more. Sherlock made a frustrated noise. He supposed he deserved this, after teasing John as he had earlier. But, still. This was practically unbearable. John had begun using one of the vibrators, running it over his cock. Sherlock hissed in pleasure. He was glad that he'd picked this item up. It would come in quite handy in the future.

John continued to use a variety of different contraptions and techniques, each one garnering a fairly positive response from Sherlock. He toyed and teased Sherlock relentlessly, revelling in being the one in charge for a change. And that Sherlock was rather helpless, secured to the bed, added something to the experience.

John knew how much Sherlock detested anal sex performed on him, and so when he'd had his fun bringing Sherlock to near orgasm a good five times, but not permitting him to go over the brink, he untied Sherlock. He knew that Sherlock would take over, and that was fine with John. He generally preferred it that way.

Sherlock reached for the eye mask. "Can I take this off now?" He asked, becoming exasperated with the lack of visuals.

John allowed it, and Sherlock removed the mask. He wasn't surprised to see that John was powerfully hard once more. John leaned in close, and they kissed roughly, John manoeuvering himself so that he was bestriding Sherlock's hips.

He grabbed the lube, and warmed some in his hands, before glazing Sherlock with it. He aligned himself with Sherlock's cock, and guided him in. Sherlock gasped with pleasure, as he glided inside. John was always so tight, and after what John had put him through, the sensation had more than doubled. He very much doubted if he would last much longer.

John began to move his hips, as Sherlock bucked his own fervently. Sherlock cried out noisily, calling John's name repeatedly as he felt himself orgasm forcefully. He'd never experienced an orgasm that intense before, one that travelled throughout his entire body, literally leaving him breathless with pure pleasure. It lasted longer than usual, and he wasn't capable of noticing when John orgasmed along with him.

When the coursing pleasure had subsided, John climbed off of him. Sherlock was speechless. John mopped the considerable perspiration from Sherlock's brow with a handkerchief from the bedside table. As he lay panting, John smiled affectionately at him, proud of himself for giving Sherlock such satisfaction.

As Sherlock closed his eyes, John whispered 'I love you.'. Sherlock responded with a murmered 'I love you, too, John.' And with that, he fell into a deep sleep. John watched him for a short while, before drifting off to sleep himself, snuggling close to his lover.

Over the next two days, John and Sherlock continued to explore each other and learned more than either of them had expected to. Of course, when Lestrade had sent a text requesting assistance on a case, they put their activities on hold. Sherlock's appetites were put on hiatus whenever he was working, and John wasn't looking forward to a drought.

When John and Sherlock showed up at the crime scene rather exhausted after a rather demanding afternoon delight, Lestrade easily put two and two together, and found himself wondering what it was that Sherlock had decided on buying from 'XXX's and Oh's!'. He shook his head, and cleared his thoughts, focusing on the matter at hand.

But before he could say anything, Sherlock effortlessly came to a conclusion and rattled off the explanation to Lestrade. "I cannot believe that you called me in for this." He added, before turning to leave. Lestrade glared at Sherlock's back. The man really could be such an arse.

As they headed home, Sherlock held John's hand, which was uncharacteristic of him. John was surprised, and wondered what had brought this sudden public display on. Sherlock typically saved his affection for when they were at home. John supposed that it was a matter of privacy for Sherlock, and didn't push things. So, when Sherlock made this small effort, which must have been substantial to him, John's heart had leapt with joy. He hadn't thought that he could fall in love with Sherlock any more than he already had. Yet, he often found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

They were both so completely content; up until the day that Sherlock had leapt from that building, completely shattering John's heart. Since that day, he hadn't been the same man. John hadn't so much as smiled since that tragic day, and rarely spoke. He'd lost quite a lot of weight from a loss of interest in eating, and refrained from leaving the flat that he and Sherlock had shared unless he needed to. John spent most of his time re-reading notes that Sherlock had made, Klaus in his lap.

Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson had done her best to help John with things like the shopping and cleaning the flat. Losing Sherlock hadn't been easy for her either; she'd grown quite fond of him. And seeing John suffer so much on top of things was quite nearly too much for her to bear.

Last Thursday, slightly more than two years after losing his Sherlock, John took his own life, unable to go on without his beloved any longer. He dived from the same building that Sherlock had, tears streaming down his face as he clutched the picture he'd taken of Sherlock that day so long ago in his right hand.

The funeral was held this past Tuesday, although there were only three people who had officially attended the funeral. Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft and DI Greg Lestrade were there, and witnessed the lowering of John Watson's casket into the cold ground.

Lestrade held Mrs. Hudson as she wept. John and Sherlock had been more than just tenants to her. They had been her friends, and she had adored them. Molly would have attended, if she hadn't been giving birth to the son that her ex-fiancé had left her with. She named the boy Sherlock Hamish Hooper, after the man that she had loved, and the man that he had married. She had loved and respected both Sherlock and John, and she was proud that her son would be named after two such wonderful men.

Mycroft stood alone, staring at the grave with a cold look in his eyes. Only he had noticed the figure lurking close by, behind a particularly large tree. Mycroft knew precisely who it was, knew that they were partly to blame for John Watson's untimely death.

After the funeral had come to a close, and Mrs. Hudson and Greg Lestrade had departed, along with the priest, the figure in the shadows approached.

Mycroft watched as the man came closer, his long coat billowing in the breeze. It had been obvious that the man had been crying profusely.

"Sherlock." Mycroft greeted dully, noting the sheer pain on his young face. Sherlock turned to look at the grave. To think that John had mourned over his grave, and because of that, he now mourned over John's was unbearable. Sherlock hadn't had much of a choice but to have faked his death. If he hadn't, both he and John would undoubtedly been slaughtered most ruthlessly. There had been no other way out.

Sherlock fell to his knees, sobs wracking his willowy frame. He had done everything he could to keep John safe, and yet he had failed. John was dead. He may as well have killed John himself.

"Sherlock, this isn't your fault. Well, not completely." Mycroft told him in a low voice, a hand on his shoulder, which was quite a display from him. Mycroft had never been very gifted when it came to emotional moments, though he did his best.

"Don't lie to me, I know that I'm to blame!" Sherlock spat, getting shakily to his feet. He couldn't believe the anger Mycroft's words had stirred in him. His emotions were raging, and though he was trying his damnedest to distance himself from them, he was failing wretchedly.

This pain, this absolutely torturous pain, was maddening. How would he bear this? Two years without John and knowing that he was alive had been exceedingly demanding. And now, he would have to live without John for the rest of his life, however long that would be.

Not long after that dreadful day, Sherlock picked up a habit that he'd left behind long ago: heroin. He barely ate, slept erratically and often slept out of doors. It wasn't long before he over-dosed and died in a most painful fashion, alone, in the middle of the night in Trafalger Square.

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are now buried, side by side, together forever.


End file.
